An Illusion
by SandMann
Summary: Pale, sickly hands pressed themselves against cool metal. One Decade; ten years of pure hell.     RussiaxAmerica-slightly! Warning: Suggestive themes!


**A/N: I cannot belive I finally finished this. Um I cannot say much but what the hell was I thinking? **

* * *

Snow and blood mixed into one; tainting the almost holy snow with unworthy blood. The dye of red spread on the ground, covering the snow in crimson, it was no longer a jolly winter. It was a dreadful winter. The slowly falling snow flakes followed down its path attempting to cover the dye and failing.

Crimson, how enticing to the eye! The eye wanted more, no it craved for more. The eye wanted to go on and make the giver of life flow as if it was the great Nile! The eye wanted more of the sweet bitterness that filled its icy domain. It wanted its friends, the ears, to hear more of the screams of agony that lapped at them as if it was the howling winter wind. The eye wanted more, more of everything that it can get. Blood, flesh, tears, and the eye wanted to see it all.

Yet the owner of the eye, the main being that could cause such pain, stood there frozen. Pale hands gripped cool metal; blood stained the ghostly white hands as they shook violently. The pale blond hair danced in the winter breeze; violet eyes now lay an empty waste land.

At the violet eyed man's feet laid a bleeding man.

His face was flushed by the cold and dyed in spots a deep crimson. The Sandy-Blond hair laid in a chaotic mess covered in sweet sweat, blood, and ice; sky blue eyes looked up, slightly waning as they gave death glares. A frown twitched onto the once angelic lips that where now red with the man's very own blood.

"Damn you!" A hiss came from the broken man.

The attacker, known as Russia or better yet Ivan, blinked several time. A mild shock covered his flush face for mere seconds before it turned to a cold unwavering stone, making it seem that the man had no emotions.

"Is that so, America?" Ivan spoke; his voice was harsh and cutting. It knew no mercy, no meaning of humanity. No, his voice only knew how to hurt, just like himself.

America flinched at the harsh tone before going on, "Yes, it is so, you damn maniac. The world is a wretched place because of you and your power hungry government. Did you learn nothing from The Cold War? Did you not learn that nobody wants to be with you? Did you not learn the bigger you are the easier it is for other to leave in hate?"

"Da, I learned much from that horrid war." Ivan paused, his eyes filled with a murderous intent, his stiff body finally moved. The first thing to move was the hand that held the weapon limply at his side. Gliding it across the dyed snow he pressed the cold pipe against America's face. "I learned a lot, America. I learned that you where an insecure nation who puts his nose in every little thing that does not involve you. You do it for you are the "Hero"; you are not a hero, no you are a pest. To make matters worse you gained several chances to keep out of World War Three, and you did not take them. No, you joined in to protect little England. You joined because of the fact that I was on the opposing fraction, Nyet?" Ivan paused once more allowing the last word to dangle in the air a bit longer before continuing on, "You plunged your men into an un-heroic war; you caused all of their deaths. You could have ended the pain and suffering. You could have become one with Mother Russia, yet you did not.

"So to answer your pathetic question, Da, I learned that you are not a hero. I learned how to control my nations, how to make them stay with me. That is what I learned from the damn Cold War." Ivan finished, a cold glare was shot at America. The Cold War was still a sensitive subject for the Nation and it added more fuel to the raging fire that was within Ivan's heart. It made Ivan want to snap the male's neck into two; to gouge out his eye, to rip out that tongue. Despite his urge to, Ivan stayed still, he waited, his thoughts drifted far away from the cold winter air. Away from General Winter's never ceasing battle, away from blood, insanity, death, famine, plague, away from it all.

As the thought of peace spun its beautiful web of illusion as a cold, almost hysteric, laugh filled the Russian's ear. The laugh was nothing more than a mere mixture of coughing, choking, and hate filled laughter of pain, its unholy sound tore at the ears making anyone, including the Russian, wish to cover their ears.

"Ivan, you are a fool and nothing else! No one even dare dream of becoming one with you. Little lone be willingly to do so. I will tell you why also." Alfred paused, a small smirk laid on his battered face. "You are a damn maniac who needs to be exterminated like the little coach roach you are.

"As for the rest, my people suffer for they do not want to see you take over Europe. They do not wish to see an iron curtain shrouding all of the countries east of us. They want the world to be safe. That is why we joined the war with Iggy and Francis against you. So we do not have to fear dark hours with a crazy Russian ruling our beloved world.

"You have no chance to win, with me being in this war, it should be you who throws in the towel, Ivan." Alfred finished

Ivan smirked evilly as he looked at the English nation. "Is that so? " He asked before allowing a small chuckle escape his chilled lips. "So why did England fall to me so easily? Why did France soon follow? Why did they join me? Is it because of your blind since of heroism made your own brother, Canada, grovel at my feet and beg for me to be Allis with him?" Ivan asked, his head cocked to the side in a curious manner.

"Shut up you damn bastard. Matthew only begged for he was forced to! You stood above him holding a gun to his head, forcing him to oblige you monster! You damn idiot they did not join willingly!

"No, England's Navy was annihilated by you. France's perishing, with mercy at your hands. So that is the reason why they joined you! Not because of me, but because of you." Alfred argued with much zeal.

Ivan just chuckled at the man as he grew over worked from arguing his cause. He was proud of himself, for he could say he made the United Kingdom and Northern Ireland fall into his hands. Proud to say he made the noble France fall from grace and into Hell. And now he would soon be proud to say that he made the Great United States of America fall for the first time in history.

With little to no thought Ivan knelt down in the soiled snow. His hand let the pipe drop into the snow. The cruel, almost childlike, smile plastered itself onto his face. With cold hands he absentmindedly took Alfred's face into his hands.

"Little Amerika," Ivan shook his head. "You are a fool." He said bringing his face inches to America's. "Yes I annihilated England's navy, yes I forced France to fall to his knees. But they did not have to join me, they just where weak. They could not stand up against the Russian Federation any longer, hence they fell. And to break their fall, to find some help, they came to me. The very person they loathed."

America flinched as the smell of liquor wafted towards him from the wind. The Russian's uncommonly closeness put him at unease, yet he was held in an iron hold. The cold violet eyes held a dark glow telling the American that he had no hope.

"You have a choice, Alfred." Ivan said, his harsh voice becoming sweet and childlike. "Become one with me or learn the true meaning of Hell."

Alfred let a smirk fall onto his lips, "Hell could not be worst then Iggy's cooking," he said regaining portions of his old personality that had not been there since the start of the God damn war.

Ivan's eyes intensified with anger. They were glowing violent hues of purple as he glared into those almost childish heavenly blue eyes.

With movements not thought about. Just randomly on a whim Ivan brought his lips to Alfred's and kissed him harshly. His tongue snaking out begging for acceptance and that was what he got. Alfred was oddly complying, oddly kissing his rival of many years back.

The kiss was not sweet. Not even close to it. It was cold, harsh, and filled with hate. It held no meaning but lust, a need almost. But the kiss was short lived.

The two broke away, panting slightly. Blue eyes filled with hate stared at Ivan, but no words of objection came from America. Only death glares.

Ivan moved away and examined his handy work. The broken man was still bleeding, multiple limbs broken, dozens of scattered cuts and bruises.

Ivan could only smirk as he knelt down. He would break America even if it took the rest of his life. He would make America oblige to every one of his whims. With that thought he picked up the man. No protests just shock was in the American features.

"You have your choice, Join me or Do not, Little Amerika." Ivan said in a sweet, happy, nauseating, childlike voice.

"I rather die," Alfred was able to say as they grew closer to the Branginski residence.

"Then you shall," Ivan said whistling a cheerful tune.

* * *

Pale, sickly hands pressed themselves against cool metal. Tears stopped short practically turning into crystals. Dull blue eyes looked out into the snow. Blond hair lays untamed as if years went by.

_One Decade._

Ten years of pure hell. Ten years of never ceasing torture. Ten years since Alfred had last gone outside. So long that he had forgotten what fresh air smelt like. What a small thing of sanity was.

Yet the American was not sane. Red, White, and Black filled his vision. The falling snow turned into gruesome red. The light of the sun dark and hate filled. The naked trees basked in a white glow; red, white, and black.

Russia had made everything worst. His very existent had put America in such a state. For Russia shined with confidence of winning the war. A cold false smile plastered upon his face when around others.

When Alfred and Ivan where alone only sweet nothingness was whispered. Only falsehood was said as clothing crossed the room in an arch. When healthy warm flesh meet bruised cold flesh. When they laid panting for air, next to each other it was only a false promise.

Only lies Ivan filled his prey's mind. Trying to bend Alfred and get him to submit; to become one with Mother Russia.

A frown graced chapped, bruised and cut lips. His eyes danced upon the dark cruel scenery. Outside of the old, creaking, iron wrought gate laid a line of crimson, a line of freedom. It was the line that Alfred could never meet. The line that sat there taunting the torture nation. Yet it also had a dull meaning. Like a sharp cruel blade the harsher truth laid on the other side.

The cruel side was the boundary of his love for Ivan. Even through the hell secret feelings still laid. They laid there hoping for Ivan to end this cruelness, for mercy to come.

But outside Alfred's glass box the love would diminish. He would forget the cold nation once freedom came. He would tear any love from his heart and throw it to the ground. Stomp on it and spit on it, treat it as if it was a lowlife bug.

Yet Alfred did not want this. He wanted this pain, he wanted Ivan's attention. Ivan may not deserve his love to any degree. Yet he wanted this, he deserved it! For his ignorance! For hope! For all of it he deserved it.

The once proud nation of The United States of America fell to his knees. Tears streamed down his face as his grip grew tighter.

America still stood strong. The star spangled banner played proudly in the air. The people fought. They fought like never before. They fought with bared fangs, claws, and guns. They still stood proud as their nation, as Alfred F. Jones, fell. He fell between love and rivalry; sanity and illusions.

The nation looked up to the sky. The clouds moved away slightly shinning upon the nation. Thin cheeks where exposed, skeleton like shell shown off. But soon no one could see it. The sun retreated far behind the clouds leaving the man alone.

"Alfred?" A voice softly called slicing through the silent air and coming to Alfred's ears.

Alfred turned around. The only person who had saved him stood at the door. A small body leaned against the wooden door frame, arms crossed against his chest and a small frown on his lips.

"Alfred you should not be out here! Especially since Ivan came home yesterday," The brown hair man said, his voice was low and covered in worry. The blue-green eyes where drenched in concern as he scanned for some reaming life in the other's faded blue eyes.

Nothing. That is what he found. He found nothing that was promising. Just hurt and falsehood in a void of darkness the Russia created. The only time those eyes have a slight light is when Russia came and was kinder. Only then did America listen to Russia. Only then did those once forever twinkling eyes twinkle like the heavens.

Yet those times where getting rarer. Ivan came home colder and colder, withdrawn from all. He would spend countless hours in his office.

"Oh, Toris, sorry it is just I really wanted to come out today. It just felt right," Alfred replied, his voice scratchy and dry. In all honesty he wanted to break out of the never ceasing Hell; to be able to feel the cold on his face, not the constant warmth from the house.

Summer was hot, winter hotter. The house only seemed to have two settings hot and hotter. Alfred heard that this was because Russia wanted to move down southward. The cold nation in all honesty hated the frigid cold of the north. He wanted the warm sun of the south. Yet people stopped him from achieving the goal. They did not want Russia to take over most of Europe just for warmth! The country was already one ninth landmass of the world's landmass! The country _alone_ and no one else!

"It is fine, now come in America. If you stay out any longer you will defiantly get a cold. You know that your immune system is not the best! Plus if Russia finds out he will be mad and lock you up again,"Toris said lowering his voice, concern showing in his hazel eyes.

Alfred chuckled, just like before, and smiled at Toris. "Alright, I am coming in," The broken nation said walking in. Once in the large house Estonia, Eduard, threw a blanket over him so he could get some warmth. With that Alfred sat down in an ancient wooden chair and watched the Baltic nations scramble. One busy with tea, another with cooking, and the last was busying himself with cleaning. They feared Russia more than anyone and anything thus they cleaned franticly. The large house was always neat and food always being cooked. It had a welcoming vive to it when the three nations where done however the villain, Ivan, made it all turn icy cold. It made the "Hero" a tad bit mad with the nation he slightly loved yet hated greatly.

"Alfred," Eduard said handing Alfred the tea.

America wrapped his hands around the warm cup, taking in the warmth the cup had. He was still a Coke fan however tea had grown upon him. It was not like he would allow Iggy or Pervert [France] to see that! It would be a very cold day in Hell when England would see his former colony drinking this _thing_.

Cold day in Hell it was today. While America was sipping the tea England and France slipped in. The two looked battered and just a bit better than America; however France was still being a flirt. No matter how many time Arthur says no Francis will keep trying to make an advance. When they saw America, first time in three months, the automatically froze. The United States of Fucking America was drinking tea! There was no way this could be possible!

A smile found its way to Arthur's lips as he watched America freeze at the sight of the two, tea in hand.

"Alfred I see you have taken up drinking tea like before," England said with a smirk.

The two only came to Russia's home do to the fact it was mandatory. If the two wish they could leave for years, however they must come back at some point. They must see what Ivan Bastard Braginski does to those nations that resist him. See a broken America that's only light is when he sees a clear blue sky, when he smells summer coming and hearing an old tune he has England continually sing.

England sat next to Alfred, inspecting the wounds of the silent nation. The words escaped his lips in an almost inaudible tone.

"Yankee Doodle went to town, A-riding on a pony, Stuck a feather in his cap And called it macaroni," England sang softly. The song meant to mock was a song that the young nation loved. Not as much as the Star Spangle banner, which was banned; if sung and or play Russia fell in a bad mood. Once he fell into such a mood America got beaten senseless. Thus they reverted to Yankee Doodle.

"Yankee Doodle keep it up, Yankee Doodle dandy, Mind the music and the step, And with the girls be handy," America replied softly. Flinching slightly as England's gloved hand ran against a new bruise.

Toris turned around and examined the wounds with Arthur; the two bandaged Alfred as always while they softly hummed Yankee Doodle. Alfred flinched every now and then as wounds were grazed and probed but it was better than having the Russian clean his wound, which the bastard did do when he was mad.

"Alright Alfred go get some sleep, Russia is out for the moment so please do not worry," England said knowing the nation was afraid to sleep for Russia could do stuff to him.

America nodded a bit reluctantly and forced himself up. Toris put America's arm around his neck and lead him off to the room America slept in.

* * *

Hours turned into days and days into months. America had not seen a hint of Russia at all but he could feel his strength coming back. As night engulfed day Russia stumbled into the house. It had been one year and much had happened. He felt weaker and more tired each time he made a step.

Toris had forgotten to look up the house. As he walked through the chilly dark house he heard heavy boots, glass smashing, and labored breaths. Instantly Toris thought of a drunken Russian making his way to America. Upon instinct he ran to America's room but nothing. It was odd to him so he slowly left the room. Russia's goal was not America's room. No it was his room and as his vision blurred more and more as he moved, blood seeped from a gash upon his head. Ivan was a mess and a true sight to behold.

Toris walked into the kitchen and dumbly stood there, but only for a few minutes. Running to Ivan he wrapped an arm around Ivan's waist.

"Ivan, what happened?" He asked his voice trembled with worry

Ivan's throat was raw from yelling on the lines; it hurt just trying to say a word so he shook his head, tears finding their way to his face, what exactly happened?

The battling continued for years the Russian army had been fighting and winning. Germany was their main Alli and there were some issues in Munich with those pesky Americans. Russia ended up there fighting besides Germany. His men were dying all around him thought. Guts and blood danced in the air as the Americans advanced even more, the star spangle banner playing through the crowd of men. Even some English men fought with their brethren, two flags together to fight one.

Germany and Russia retreated and the Americans followed. No matter how many times or troops they pulled out the Americans still came up as the winner. It was sickening, it was cruel, and it was war.

Now here was Russia. Beaten and tired his breathing just a ghost.

Toris lead Ivan to his room, laying the large man down upon the bed. Russia rolled his head to the side to look at Toris. The light in his violet eye going out slowly.

"Ivan, oh god what is going on?" Toris said in shock at the look in the man's face.

"A death of an illusion."


End file.
